Give Me Love
by Meirionwen Harwood
Summary: Set within "Something Borrowed". Ianto just needed to get away for a while, and what better place to escape than the past?


**Summary**: Set within _"Something Borrowed"_. I don't really remember the episode anymore, so just go with the flow if the details are sketchy.

**Rating**: PG-13 for allusions to sex.

**Tip**: Listen to Ed Sheeran's_ "Give Me Love"_ for maximum emotions.

**Note**: Edited this a bit. I'm sorry my writing is atrocious.

* * *

Jack dropped Ianto off at the latter's apartment building and drove off even before Ianto had the chance to say goodbye. Watching the SUV drive off, Ianto hugged himself for a moment, waiting until the big black car had rounded the corner before he dragged himself up the steps into his building. Once at his apartment, Ianto loosened his tie, hung it carefully on his shoulder, and made his way to the bedroom. Once there, he shed his clothes slowly, carefully folding each article before placing every item in the hamper. His shoes he shucked with as much care and placed in his closet. They were only dusty; he'd clean them tomorrow.

Ianto walked unclothed into the adjoining bathroom, opting for a hot shower instead of a bath, even though every single one of his muscles ached. Baths were excuses to drink and he wasn't feeling like alcohol tonight. Ianto turned on the shower and subjected himself to the steaming rain, letting it run over his face, hair, and body. For a long while he just stood there, letting the water soothe him. When the water started cooling down Ianto shut off the shower and grabbed his sponge and his bottle of body wash. He poured a liberal amount of the expensive fragrant liquid onto his sponge and squeezed it gently a few times, letting the lather form. With his free hand, he squeezed some of the liquid onto his hair for shampoo as his other hand thoroughly and methodically cleansed his neck, his nape, upper body, and torso. He soaped his lower extremities just as thoroughly, this time using two hands. When he was satisfied that he'd covered every single area, he turned on the shower again and rinsed himself completely, this time with cold water to awaken his senses.

Ianto stepped out of the shower and grabbed a clean towel and dried himself off from head to toe, sometimes putting his feet on the spotless toilet bowl to allow for better reach. When he was done, he hung up the towel to dry. He'd put it in the wash tomorrow. He then looked in the mirror, where the inverted reflection of his living room wall clock could be seen. Two in the morning, it said. The next day would be his one day off in the week. Ianto opened his medicine cabinet and reached for his rather pricey jar of Hairbond Sculptor and got just a touch of it on his finger to work into his hair. He shook his head. It'd only really been only a few years ago when he was all but starving in London. Nowadays just two of his hygiene products would have bought him a week's meals had he had them back in the day. Ianto was just a punk kid, a Welsh Chav if you've ever seen one, and then Yvonne had found him and schooled him, all because she'd liked his coffee when he was working in that dive of a coffee shop across Canary Wharf.

Satisfied with his hair, Ianto entered his bedroom and opened his wardrobe, taking out a black shirt, black leather pants, a white undershirt, black leather boots, and some simple wooden bead bracelets. Over his throat he carefully fastened a simple braided choker with a stylized "I" hanging off it.

Just a few minutes passed and Ianto was done changing. He looked at himself in the mirror. Now this was more like the real him, or at least, the real him from five years ago. Before his mentor Yvonne. Before his beloved Lisa. Before Jack, who was both.

Beside his bedroom's doorpost was a guitar case. Ianto absently stroked the part that covered his guitar's machine head, before heaving the case onto his shoulder.

Ianto walked into Demspey's on Castle street and was greeted with smiles and even bottle and glass raises by some of the regulars. He inclined his head at them and gave them small smiles as he approached the bar. A friendly old man reached out a hand, and Ianto met it with his own in a firm handshake. The old man spoke first. "It's been a while since you have been here, Ianto. Torchwood keep you busy?"

Ianto chuckled at that. "Like you wouldn't believe. My work as teaboy is never done, Cadwaladr."

Cadwaladr smiled and grabbed a glass and wiped it with a clean cloth. "Hmph. If I know you, Ianto, you are more than that. Always been an all-around man, you are. I'm glad you're not denying Torchwood anymore. It's not like I don't see you lot traipsing back and forth in the City Centre in that big fancy car whenever there is something odd running about."

Ianto shrugged. "I suppose I'm just too tired. I am so, so tired." He leaned upon the counter for support.

Cadwaladr put down the glass he'd been polishing and put his hand on Ianto's shoulder. "The stage is yours if you want it. Just like old times. Can you play a whole set?"

Ianto tightened his hold on the neck of his guitar case. "Thanks, and yes, I can play as long as you need me to. It's my day off tomorrow."

Cadwaladr nodded. "Shall I pay you in beer?"

"Is there any other way?"

Cadwaladr laughed. "Copier's out back if you have new material for us."

"I do. Thank you, Cadwaladr."

xoxoxox

Jack had spent the last hour looking at photos of his wedding from a hundred years ago. Elizabeth. They'd had a few happy years, but she died giving birth to their only child, who died of crib death a few days later. He'd been inconsolable for decades; sleeping around, making an ass of himself, but always doing his job. Torchwood was the only stable thing in his life, or it was, until Ianto came along. Rock-steady Ianto, always ready with industrial strength coffee, a massage, Jack's coat, whatever Jack needed. Ianto who never asked for anything; always understood, and therefore he was always overlooked. Jack had left him without even glancing back. Jack's hand reached for the phone.

His calls all went to Ianto's machine. Jack left five messages, all apologetic. He sighed as he put down the phone. Ianto was probably asleep. For a moment, Jack considered going to Ianto's flat and joining him in bed. Ianto's bed was nicer and bigger. Jack then reconsidered the thought. The way he behaved today and every day since the month started was inexcusable. He hadn't even taken Ianto out on that date. Why did Ianto put up with him? Jack knew. In the back of his mind, Jack knew, and he didn't like the reason. It was time for a drink.

xoxoxox

Ianto began his set with a few Welsh love songs; crowd favorites that never grew old. For a while the crowd sang along with him. At other times they danced. Most of the time they listened quietly when they didn't chat among themselves, enjoying the good food, the drinks and his music. Ianto could remember when he first started playing at Dempsey's. It was when he first came back to Cardiff, Lisa hidden away in his flat, sedated and hooked up to so many life-giving fluids and machines. She only ever woke up at midmorning, and had always insisted he stay out when she was not awake. Unselfish and beautiful, his Lisa had been. She'd told him that she would take out the wires and tubes herself if she ever woke up and saw him already there, so he'd obeyed and got himself a barista job at a coffee shop just a few blocks away. He'd played for tips until he joined Torchwood. After that he just played for the sake of it, or to share his sorrows without really saying anything to anyone.

Cadwaladr handed Ianto a beer and Ianto remembered where he was. He thanked the old man, took a big gulp of the drink, and set the bottle down beside him.

"I've never played this song before. I took a cab so I could write this on the way here. I hope you like it,"

Ianto then leaned over to the violinist who usually accompanied him, a twenty-something bloke named Bevan, who played tunes in Dempsey's for whoever had two quid and a song request. "Just follow me," Ianto said.

Bevan grinned and nodded. That he could do. Behind Bevan were two backup singers. They were usually the main act, except when Ianto was there, Craigfryn and Blwchfardd. Each of them held music sheets Ianto had written.

xoxoxox

Jack had never been in this part of town before, but he'd been told there were always good acts to be heard; good food to be had. He went up to the jolly-looking old bartender and put fifty quid on the counter.

xoxoxox

Ianto looked down at the floor. He didn't feel like meeting anyone's eyes. Not tonight. His fingers moved automatically, coaxing music out of his guitar.

_Give me love like her,_

_'Cause lately I've been waking up alone._

_Paint splatted tear drops on my shirt,_

_Told you I'd let them go._

Ianto saw it everyday. The longing looks, the in-jokes, but he'd always looked the other way. What choice did he have? None. Even last night at Gwen's wedding, Jack and Gwen had danced, looking for all the world like newlyweds. He'd cut in, but Jack didn't look him in the eyes. Jack had turned them around, and Ianto was certain Jack had followed the bride with those perfect blue eyes. Ianto had worked so hard to regain Jack's trust. What, short of begging, could he do to have Jack's love?

_And that I'll find my corner,_

_Maybe tonight I'll call ya,_

_After my blood turns into alcohol,_

_No I just wanna hold ya,_

Ianto had considered getting pissed drunk, but all that would do was render the next day lost. He did not believe in numbing his emotions, even the most painful ones. Ianto always believed in turning the bad into the good. Coffee beans are ran over fire, after all.

_Give a little time to me, or burn this out,_

_We'll play hide and seek, to turn this around,_

_All I want is the taste that your lips allow,_

Ianto knew that Jack probably had many lovers before him, and Ianto knew that a million million would follow, but he was sure none of them would love Jack as much as he did. Ianto's love for Jack consumed him whole day after day. He would be there for Jack until the end, he knew.

_My my, my my-y oh give me love,_

_My my, my my-y oh give me love,_

_My my, my my-y oh give me love,_

_My my, my my-y oh give me love,_

_My my, my my-y oh give me love_

_Give me love like never before,_

_'Cause lately I've been craving more._

Owen's comment about him being Jack's part time shag had HURT. It was one thing to know the truth that Jack only saw him as a convenient fuck and nothing more. At that moment, he wished Owen had stabbed him in the heart instead. It might have hurt less.

_And it's been a while but i still feel the same,_

_Maybe I should let you go_

_You know I'll find my corner,_

Ianto was not stupid; far from it. A logical person, he knew that the right choice was retcon and to start a new life elsewhere, but he'd fallen and fallen hard for Jack. He could no more leave Jack than survive tearing his own heart out and eating it.

_And that tonight I'll call ya,_

_After my blood, is drowning in alcohol,_

_No I just wanna hold ya,_

_Give a little time to me, or burn this out,_

_We'll play hide and seek, to turn this around,_

_All I want is the taste that your lips allow,_

Ianto thought about the times when he and Jack played naked hide and seek and how Ianto reveled in being the object of Jack's attention every single time Ianto made love to him. For brief moments Ianto would pretend that Jack was in love with him, and Ianto would mouth endearments into Jack's skin; never whispering, just mouthing, and hoping Jack never heard because Ianto might scare him away.

Ianto continued playing and singing, his eyes closed and his heart in his voice. By the end of the song he was in tears, as was half the crowd, who'd taken to throwing pound coins at his feet. He wouldn't be collecting them, the crowd knew. Ianto always left the money for his de facto "band".

Cadwaladr ran up to the makeshift stage and thanked the audience in Ianto's behalf. Ianto for his part bowed to the crowd and stepped away from the "stage", only to be stopped by arms around his waist and a scent he'd know anywhere.

The next few hours were a blur. Jack had grabbed Ianto's guitar and the two of them had gone back to Jack's bunker and went at each other like never before. Jack went all out, truly letting go and showing Ianto every trick he'd ever learned. Ianto for his part gave himself totally to Jack, letting the immortal hold him and mold him to any shape he wanted.

When it was over, Ianto's head was on Jack's chest, listening to the beating of the immortal heart that pumped beneath. Ianto's eyes closed. He had this. It was not all he wanted, but he'll just have to make do.


End file.
